Going to Bend (26 page)

“I’m not going to a foster home.”

The male nurse shook his head. “Then give them an alternative, kiddo. They can’t just let you go. You know that.”

“Give me a few minutes,” she asked the administrator, who frowned but agreed.

“I’m trusting you not to leave here, Patricia, without our permission. If you run, we can’t help you.”

Petie thought hard. Rose’s mother wouldn’t take her in, she knew, and if she called anyway she’d only get Rose in trouble. But there was no way in hell she was going to some snake-pit foster home. She approached the administrator. “Do you have a phone book?”

“A local one?”

Petie nodded.

“Of course,” the hospital administrator said, leading Petie down a short hall to her office and taking a phone book from a shelf above her desk.

Petie drew a deep breath. “Look in the
C
’s,” she said. “Look for Coolbaugh. Eula Coolbaugh.”

W
ITH AN
effort Petie tore herself away from the window and the quicksand of her memory. She dialed the Pepsi distributorship. When Bev put her through, she said, “Schiff, look. I need you to do something for me.”

“Shoot.”

“My skin is crawling. Will you call the hospital and ask about Larry? I have a bad feeling.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ve had one all day.”

Petie hung up and then reconnected, this time calling Rose. She explained the situation and asked Rose to pick up Ryan and Loose and take them home with her. The minute she hung up the phone rang again.

“Hi,” Schiff said. “He’s not doing well. He had a torn aorta. They were afraid he wouldn’t make it to Portland, so they operated on him here. He came out an hour ago.”

“Did you talk to Marge?”

“Yeah, for just a minute.” Schiff cleared his throat. “Look, princess,
there’s a good chance he won’t make it. He probably had a stroke on the table, and now he’s going into renal failure. His system’s just not up to this.”

The line was silent.

“Petie?” Schiff said.

“Yeah. I should call their kids.”

“Already done. They’ll get here as soon as they can.”

“You called them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Marge couldn’t. Look, it’s the middle of winter, no one’s going to check in. Switch on the NO VACANCY sign and get out of there.”

“Yeah. I’ll come over and sit with Marge until her kids get here. Will you let Eddie know what’s going on? Rose is going to pick up the boys and keep them until he gets home.”

“No problem.” Schiff could hear in her voice that she was a million miles away. “Hey, Petie,” he said.

“What?”

“Drive carefully.”

P
ETIE CLICKED
on the
NO VACANCY
sign, jumped in her car and headed for Sawyer Samaritan Hospital. Larry and Marge. There was never just Larry or just Marge; like salt and pepper shakers, or egg white and yolk, they were a matched pair, a nested set, a unit indivisible. Petie couldn’t imagine one of them without the other. They had brought up three kids, gone to church every Sunday for forty-five years, lain in bed side by side through head colds and stomach flu and pregnancy. They had chosen sheets and shopped for groceries and buried parents and decorated Christmas trees together. They were aging and dumpy and jug-eared and failing in a dozen small ways and they still looked at each other like they were all by themselves in a fairy tale. When walking any distance, they always held hands. Maybe Jim Christie held Rose’s hand sometimes. Eddie Coolbaugh and Petie never did, never had. But
then, they hadn’t started that way. Petie couldn’t even remember when it had occurred to her that she was in love with Eddie.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot. To her surprise, Schiff’s truck was also just pulling in. “I gave Eddie the rest of the day off,” Schiff said in greeting. “Did you pass him on the headland?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying much attention. Has anything changed?”

“With Larry? I don’t know, I haven’t called again. I decided to just come down.”

They walked into the hospital lobby in silence and made straight for the second-floor waiting room. Everyone who’d lived in Hubbard for long had been inside the small hospital for a birth, an operation, a false alarm, a visit. Old Man had died there. Ryan and Loose had been born in the three-bed obstetrics ward, and there had been countless visits since for stitches. Now the elevator stopped on the second floor and Petie and Schiff turned left without missing a beat. Alone in the tiny waiting room at the end of the hall, Marge sat with her back to them, looking out the window.

Petie put her hand softly on Marge’s shoulder as she came around the ugly plastic couch.

“Oh, honey,” Marge said, showing the full wreckage of her face. “You wouldn’t believe what’s happened.”

Petie pulled up a chair opposite Marge, and put one hand on Marge’s knee. “I know. Schiff told me. He’s called DeeDee and Frank and Bobby. They’re on their way.”

“You know, I believe he’s going to be all right. They aren’t saying that, of course, but I believe it anyway. Me and Larry, we know things about each other. Honey, he’s fighting, I can feel it. Can’t you feel it?”

Petie looked Marge full in the face. “No,” she said. “But I don’t have to, as long as you can.”

Marge patted Petie’s knee absently, deafened by the din inside her own head. “You know, when he was in the hospital over in the Valley, when he had his first heart attack, they thought he would die then, but Larry, he fooled them. He showed them then, didn’t he?” She looked
beseechingly at Petie and Schiff, who stood behind Petie’s chair. “It’s not his time yet. If it was, I’d know. Wouldn’t I?”

“Let me get you something to eat,” Petie said. “Can you think of anything you’d like?”

“Oh, no, honey, I couldn’t eat a thing.”

“Coffee, then. Or tea. You need to keep up your strength.”

Schiff leaned over to Petie. “I’ll go. You stay here.”

“Why, isn’t that nice of him,” Marge said, watching Schiff walk away. She leaned in closer to Petie and said, “He’s always been a little
forward
for me, if you know what I mean, but I’m glad he’s here just the same.” She sat back and ran a fluttering hand over her hair. “I must look so bad, honey. I didn’t even shower this morning. Larry, he said to me he wasn’t feeling good and I know him, he doesn’t say that unless it’s serious. That’s when I called you, honey. He passed out coming over the cape, did I tell you? I was so scared. I was just so
scared
. Oh, honey.” She started to cry. “The doctors, they don’t know if Larry can get through this. They just don’t know.”

Petie moved over to sit beside Marge so she could put her arm around her shoulder. She had learned very early that there are times when words are as useless as a broken umbrella, and this was one of them. The rain had to fall; the best you could do was huddle together until it passed. In a little while Marge gathered herself and pushed off from Petie to sit up on her own. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said.

“Do you want me to talk to the doctors for you?” Petie said.

“Oh, no. I know they’re real busy with Larry. They’ll come see us after a while. Do you know they won’t let me see him except for fifteen minutes an hour? Now, I don’t see the point of that.” She looked indignantly at Petie. “I might just try to walk in there and see if they’ll make me leave. Larry has no secrets from me.”

“I don’t think it’s secrets they’re worried about. I think they just want him to have all the quiet he needs to get his strength back,” Petie soothed. “Once he’s stronger, they’ll let you stay with him more, I’m sure.”

“Well,” Marge said, and drifted away on a current of thought.

Petie sat quietly for a minute or two, but when it became unbearable
she stood and paced. There was no sign of Schiff. She walked down the hall to the nurses’ station and got the attention of a nurse she didn’t recognize. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I’m a friend of Marge and Larry Hopkins. I’ll stay here with Marge until their kids get here from Arizona and California. How is Larry doing?”

“You’re a close family friend?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be blunt. Mr. Hopkins had a stroke during surgery, and there’s been extensive damage. His kidneys have also begun to fail.”

Petie nodded. “Is there any possibility of his pulling out of this?”

The nurse looked at Petie kindly. “I’m sorry. It’s really only a question of how quickly he’ll die.”

“Have the doctors told Marge that?”

“Yes, but I don’t believe she heard them.”

“No,” Petie said. “I could tell that. Is Larry in any pain? Does he know what’s happening?”

The nurse shook her head. “He’s in no pain, we’re making sure of that. As far as how aware he is, that’s harder to answer. He’s in a deep coma, and there’s been extensive brain injury. I would encourage you and Mrs. Hopkins to talk to him when you’re with him, in case it brings him comfort, but frankly, I think he’s already gone.”

“Do you know how much time he has?”

“No. Maybe one day, maybe several. He’s on life support now, so how quickly he passes away will be partly up to the family. There should be enough time to say goodbye.”

“But there’s no hope.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Petie said, and turned away and muttered under her breath, “Jesus
Christ
.”

At the other end of the hall, Schiff had returned and was sitting with Marge, encouraging her to drink the coffee he’d brought up in foam cups. Petie caught his eye. He stood and came over to her, where they could talk out of range. Marge didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s dying,” Petie said.

“Does she know?”

“They’ve told her, but no, she doesn’t know.”

Schiff nodded. “Look. Why don’t you go back to Hubbard and pack some things for her? They’ll let her sleep here tonight if there’s an empty room. I’ll stay with her until you get back.”

“Can you do that? Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“I’m the boss,” Schiff said. “I’ve given myself the afternoon off.”

“You don’t even really know these people. You don’t have to do this.”

“Get going.”

“Hey, Schiff?”

“Go.
Go
. Shoo.” He turned his back on her and returned to the waiting room at the end of the hall. It was as great an act of courage as Petie had ever seen.

P
ETIE MADE
the drive over the headland and into Hubbard in record time, preparing a mental packing list: medicines, hairbrush, toothbrush and other toiletries; a pair of knit slacks and a matching top; a change of shoes and socks; a jacket, nightgown, robe and slippers. It was only when she got back to the hospital that she realized she hadn’t made even a token effort to bring anything for Larry. She’d pretend to Marge that his things were in the trunk of her car until he needed them.

Schiff must have seen her drive up. He met her at the second-floor elevator and lightly laid his hand on the small of her back. “Breathe deep,” he said. “She’s starting to get it.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-huh. It’s not pretty. They’ve sedated her a little to keep her together, but it’s been touch-and-go a couple times. Screaming, sobbing, like that.” Schiff ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

“How’s Larry? Has anything changed?”

“No. Look, I should take care of one or two things in the office, but I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“No, don’t come back. I can stay now until their kids start showing
up. What time is it? DeeDee should be here in another few hours. Has Marge eaten anything? If they’re drugging her I’ve got to get her to eat.”

Schiff shook his keys free of the change in his pocket. “Okay, look. I’ll be near the phone if you need anything. If I don’t pick up, tell Bev to get my ass out of the bathroom. I won’t be any farther away than that. After five just call me at home.”

Petie lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, right.”

“Look, I’ll explain the situation to Carla.”

“Hell will freeze over before I’d ever call you at home,” Petie said. “Call me in the morning and I’ll fill you in.”

“Jesus, princess, you’re a scrappy little thing, aren’t you?”

“That’s me,” said Petie, turning on her heel and walking away.

P
ETIE SET
the suitcase with Marge’s things beside the sofa in the waiting room. Marge herself was gone, so Petie walked back down the hall and looked through the door into the intensive care unit. At the end of the ward, partially obscured by a curtain, she could see Marge standing beside what must be Larry’s bed. Petie couldn’t hear her, but she could see that Marge was talking a mile a minute.
That Marge, she’s a talker
, Larry liked to say.
Don’t matter if she has anything to tell you or not—hell, she can spend half an hour telling you there’s nothing new
. Then he’d pat her arm lovingly, and she would blush and dimple even though she’d heard him say the same thing a million times.

The nurse Petie had talked to earlier spotted her at the door and, misunderstanding, beckoned her inside. When Petie reached her, she whispered, “I’ll let you go in, but just for a few minutes. We’ve given Mrs. Hopkins a mild sedative, by the way, to see if we can keep her calm. She’d been getting agitated, and that’s no help to anyone.”

“I don’t really need to see him.”

“No, go ahead. Just don’t stay long.”

With dread Petie approached in silence. She could hear Marge saying, “Darlin’, you do what you have to do. I’d keep you here forever and ever, you know that, but if the good Lord is asking you back to His table
for supper, why, that’s an honor you can’t turn down. You go on ahead, honey, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. You just ask Him to keep my dinner warm.”

Petie willed herself to walk the last few steps, willed her face to take on a gentle expression instead of the horror she felt. When she touched Marge on the shoulder, Marge twitched away, and Petie backed up again. Larry looked like a wax effigy, a botched job with lips too narrow and eyes too deep and ears the size of saucers. Beneath the light sheet covering him she knew he’d been laid open from breastbone to navel, but there was no evidence of pain or spoilage. On the other hand, there was also no evidence of life.